


Not Like This

by Dragonwithatale



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gangbang, M/M, Sam Winchester Whump, Sex-Repulsed Sam Winchester, Trauma From Lucifer's Cage (Supernatural), hurt/little comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-03
Updated: 2020-03-03
Packaged: 2021-02-22 22:47:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23001622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragonwithatale/pseuds/Dragonwithatale
Summary: The Cage changed things for Sam.  He can't stand the thought of being touched, not anymore.  So when Dean picks up some tail for the night and Sam ends up cornered by demons... it doesn't go well.
Relationships: Demons/Sam Winchester
Comments: 8
Kudos: 56





	Not Like This

**Author's Note:**

> I am having A Week, someone gave me nice gifs, so Sam Must Suffer

Stumble in and let the ripped and bloody clothes fall to the floor, leave the door when it doesn’t slam all the way (what’s the worst that could happen now?) and then Sam is under the shower, letting too-hot water run over him in the dark. He’s shaking, shiver tremble and quake. He’s never been clean but God he’d hoped never to feel dirty like this again. Knees go weak and down he goes, ass on the still-cold tile, letting the water drum on him, trying to get an inch of warmth in under his skin. Breath shaky too, familiar old shock setting in, and he can feel them on his skin still, ghostly touch stronger than the bruises and cuts that should be stinging, the aching breaks in his fingers.

The water washes nothing away, just lets the memories swirl like shit around the drain of his life.

 _She’s pretty, flirtatious, and a few years ago ago she would have been just Sam’s type. She leans against the bar and rests a hand on Sam’s arm and he jerks back, because that was a few years and a few centuries ago, a whole other person that Sam’s never going to be again. Dean swoops in to rescue him, he sees more than he’ll ever tell and Sam just accepts it now, lets Dean distract her and save him from having to fumble through a ‘no’ that always catches in his throat now. He hunches in over his drink, sips at smokey sweetness and tries to let the whiskey wipe away the nausea that’s curling inside just from knowing someone wants him like_ that _._

_It’s barely working. Her eyes still flicker over to him a few times, even with Dean putting out his full charm. Maybe she’s angry, or maybe he upset her, or maybe she can see the horrid twisting mess that is Sam now. He pulls at the whiskey again, reminds himself that paranoia isn’t always right, and breathes so much relief out when she says yes and heads out with Dean. They have a system worked out, Dean won’t take her back to the motel. He never does anymore. Sam will have to walk back though, and right now he doesn’t mind._

_A few fingers later the glass sits empty and Sam feels less like crawling out of his skin. He turns it in his hands, feels the smooth weight of it, then sets it down. The bar is almost empty, just a few local men hunched over their beer and scotch as the hours tick to closing time. He stands and gets out his wallet, fishes around for some bills, and when he turns around there are black eyes looking back at him from every fucking corner. His heart is racing, he doesn’t have the knife or an angel blade so he runs, lets those long legs stretch and he’s five four three steps away from the door when they catch him and swing him around to slam facedown onto a table._

_“Leaving so soon, Winchester?” the demon hisses and it grabs a painful fist full of hair to crack his head heard against the wood. The pain splits through the alcohol fuzz and does nothing at all to help the rising panic that kicks into overdrive when the demon grinds against his ass._

_“Don’t fucking touch me.” It’s weaker than he wants, the fear’s closing in on his throat and he’s not strong enough to break free, head held down as he scrabbles and pushes against the wood. There’s snickers and jeers all around, midnight empty eyes looking at him hungrily from every direction._

_“I’m gonna do a lot more than touch you, slut.” Bruising fingers grasp at his side then reach under to grope at his cock and Sam retches, mind whiting out under a rising silent scream of_ no no no no no _—_

 _He thrashes, and kicks, and none of it stops the demon from wrenching his arm back to hold him in place, tugging his jeans down, palming his ass. Another man with black eyes steps forward with his dick out and dripping and rubs against Sam’s cheek, hand holding Sam still by the hair; the scent is too familiarly wrong and_ badbadbad _and Sam can feel the cracks in the Cage and so damn cold. The one in front warns him about teeth and in back there’s the sound of a buckle and a zipper and Dean is miles away and not coming back. Sam’s alone. The one behind him leers “this is my favorite part”, rubbing a hot hard dick up and down against Sam’s hole and he chuckles before shoving forward. Sam is filled like he never wanted to be, not again, and he twists and cries and has another dick shoved into his mouth. Salt and bitter choke him, the wretchedness of sulphur under it all, and the two demons pound into him like they mean to break him, rough and raw and violatingly intimate and it doesn’t stop. God it doesn’t stop. His mouth floods with come and he vomits and starts choking and there’s another thick red cock forcing its way into him._

_They take turns. Sam blacks out here and there, he can’t breathe between the come and the snot and the tears and the puke, coming to as he’s tortured back awake, slapped or punched or his arm is finally dislocated and one two three fingers snapped. The come dripping down his legs goes from hot to cold and tacky dry and they still force themselves into him. They call him bitch, and slut, and Lucifer’s whore, and their hands are everywhere. Rough and filthy and trying to make him want this, groping between his legs, rubbing at him, tugging till he screams (again), and always laughing as he tries to get away._

_Another cock in his mouth and forced back into his throat and the demon doesn’t pull out, groans and laughs as he thrashes and chokes and passes out—_

_Pain. Hurts to breathe. But he’s alive and they’re not ra… he’s not being… He cracks open his eyes and the bar is empty. He’s alone and alive and he doesn’t question it, doesn’t have the strength to, just picks himself up from where he was left ragdoll. Winces as he pulls his clothes on, what he has left. His phone is shattered. His gun is gone, knives too. He’s shivering before he even steps out into the warm summer night, limping across crushed gravel and broken pavement._

_It’s miles to go._

The water’s run cold and Sam hasn’t budged when Dean gets back, staring blank at nothing. Dean calls his name softly, then flips on the lights when he stumbles over Sam’s clothes, then curses loudly and barges loudly into the bathroom in a whirling panic. Sam cringes, hiding away from the light and the movement.

“Sam?” Dean sounds raw and devastated, pain drip dripping in his voice like blood in the rain. “God, Sammy, what the hell happened.”

He opens his mouth and nothing but a hoarse croak comes out, there’s fire in his throat and the taste of semen and sulphur and he tilts over to the side and retches and retches.

Hands on his shoulder and side, stroking gingerly, trying to be comforting and he flinches, waits for it to start again.

Dean pulls him gently upright, keeps his hands safely high and hugs Sam close to his chest. Starts rocking gently as Sam breaks and breaks and breaks, sobbing and clinging tight.

"It's okay, Sammy. I'm right here, it's okay."

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry?
> 
> I don't always have the energy to answer but I do love comments :)


End file.
